


you won't know what you like better

by higgsbosonblues



Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Double Penetration, Fucking With Feelings, M/M, Threesome, irredeemable trash, this was always gonna happen wasn't it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 18:04:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16623827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/higgsbosonblues/pseuds/higgsbosonblues
Summary: “Have you ever been with a man?” André says, leaning over to pick up his ochoko and take a casual sip.“On occasion,” James says cautiously. This is a strange question for André to be asking, because he remembers with relative clarity kissing André at a particularly messy party in Saint Tropez a few years back, and he’s pretty sure André remembers it too. Still, he doesn’t mention it, unsure whether it’s something André wants Jev to know about.“Have you ever been with two?”





	you won't know what you like better

**Author's Note:**

> If you are looking for a plot here, you will be sorely disappointed. It is nearly 10k of filth. Writing it nearly killed me. 
> 
> This goes out to all the people on tumblr who loudly demanded OT3 fic after all the jeandrames in Japan Instagram fun, which feels like a very long time ago now. I very nearly didn't finish it because it ended up being a very different animal to what I'd originally wanted it to be, and I'm still not entirely happy with it, especially against the other beautiful fics that have popped up in the meantime exploring these three and their strange, intense friendship. Still, it felt like a waste to give up on it, so here we are.
> 
> Thank you especially to Caroline and Daisy for the cheerleading, read-throughs and gentle prodding, and to Boz for, well, existing, but especially for the reassurance, the saké knowledge (and indeed the saké) and helping me with the French dirty talk (translations are at the end).

He’d have to be stupid not to know that they’re fucking. Hiding in plain sight doesn’t really cover it: they’re barely hiding it at all. Still, there’s a difference between knowing something _theoretically_ \- say, the suspicion that beneath the social media flirtation and constant meet-cutes in the off-season lurks something a little more explicit than the PR team would be strictly comfortable hashtagging - and knowing it _empirically_ , for instance after walking into your own spare room to find your teammates backed up against a chest of drawers, making out like the teenagers they decidedly no longer are.

 “Jesus _fuck_ ,” James says, quite eloquently he thinks all things considered, and walks backwards into the doorframe. André groans a little bit when Jev pulls away - actually _groans_ , fucking hell - and Jev dissolves into the kind of giggling, muffled against André’s shoulder, that instantly makes James wonder whether he was meant to walk in on them all along. After so many years of friendship with André, nothing surprises him: the Belgian has a disconcerting tendency to stage-manage his relationships according to his own obscure ends.

 “Sorry,” André says, not sounding sorry at all. His hands are still lingering on the curve of Jev’s back, crowding him against the bureau. James has a horrible feeling he might be going red. For fuck’s sake. He clears his throat, a transparent attempt to buy himself a few seconds and try to regain his composure. Jev is running his hands through his hair, flustered and slightly smug.

 “I just came to see if you wanted a drink,” James says a bit weakly, and André has the audacity to laugh at him.

 “Sure,” he says, finally peeling himself from where he and Jev are still joined at the hip and smoothing down the creases in his t-shirt. James mentally crosses himself and goes to pour the drinks; he was going to stick to beers, but now he thinks he might want saké after all.

* 

“Don’t be weird about this,” André tells him bluntly in the kitchen later on, his jaw set in an aggressive jut as he helps to load the dishwasher in a frankly unusual display of domesticity. James tries to school his face into a neutral expression and concentrates on scraping the remnants of yakiniku sauce from the plates into the bin.

“I didn’t think I was,” James says, moving to rinse a glass. There’s a red wine stain in the bottom of it, dried grainy and purple-black. He glances over his shoulder. André is watching him through narrowed eyes, head tilted, thoughtful. James sighs. “André, I kind of figured you guys were together anyway. This isn’t… It’s not _news_.”

“Hm,” André says. “What made you think that?”

 “Are you kidding me?” James asks in disbelief, his composure slipping momentarily, and André shrugs one shoulder and slams the dishwasher closed with his knee. James listens to the resulting clattering within and prays that none of his relatively expensive wine glasses have just been sent to a violent death on the drip tray.

 "We’re not the only drivers to act like that on social media,” André says with faux naivete, and James rolls his eyes. He’s never entirely sure whether André is as clueless as he appears at times, or whether it’s something he’s cultivated to get himself out of having to do things. Mostly James suspects it’s the latter.

“I’m not talking about the bloody hashtags. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” He doesn’t bother to hide his impatience, and he doesn’t miss the way André’s dimples curve as he ducks his head away to fold a dish towel.

*

True to his word - because, frustratingly, he’s never been able to deny André anything, even this - he’s careful to stay nonchalant when they sit down again. Jean-Éric curls himself like a cat into the corner of the wraparound sofa, socked feet tucked under his thighs, taking photos of the sunset from the floor-to-ceiling windows opposite for his Instagram stories until James leans across to draw the blinds against the encroaching gloom. André drops himself into the single-seater armchair directly opposite, sprawling back into the creaking leather and stretching his legs out. James is only moderately surprised when he doesn’t put his feet up on the coffee table.

They drink slowly, eating beer-battered salted pickles James had picked up from the local deli earlier and warmed in the oven. Never particularly comfortable taking the lead in conversations, he’s happy enough to let Jev and André chat amongst themselves about the upcoming race, chiming in every so often with his own anecdotes about the track and the climate.

He hasn’t known the younger driver for so long, and Jev is still a relative mystery. While André talks, James glances over as surreptitiously as he can. Jev’s long limbs are folded around each other, chin resting on his knees, his attention focused raptly on André despite the relatively uninteresting tale about the karaoke bar across the road he’s in the middle of. There’s a stillness to him, even though he’s fiddling absentmindedly with the gold band adorning his right wrist. The quality of his focus, tranquil as he seems, is intense enough that James feels a surprising flicker of jealousy. There’s a hunger to the way Jev looks at André, and now he knows for sure they’re fucking, it makes him feel a little bit warm. Bearing witness to the way Jev stares is, somehow, more intimate than walking in on them kissing had been. It makes the hair at the back of James’ neck prickle in a way he can’t quite get a handle on, and he silently curses André. _Don’t be weird about this._ What constitutes weird, James wonders. 

He’s about to interrupt André - anything to break the sudden tension he finds himself snagged by - when Jev, as though reading his mind, turns to look at him with a suddenness that, embarrassingly, makes James jump. He has the sensation of a kid caught spying at the keyhole of his parents’ bedroom. Jev doesn’t speak, just watches him, one tooth worrying the curve of his Cupid’s bow. His irises are a curious golden brown, translucent in the lamp-light, and his gaze flickers over the contours of James’ body with the same attentiveness he’d shown to André.

James swallows, whatever inanity he’d been preparing to speak dying in his throat, looking back at Jev and hoping his consternation doesn’t show on his face. Jev smiles slightly, his tooth still puncturing the plump curve of his top lip, and quirks an eyebrow. James doesn’t know what to read into his expression, but he feels his cheeks warming once again. Jev leans forward, breaking their eye contact, grabbing the last piece of battered daikon from the plate and popping it in his mouth, chewing with relish and licking the vestiges of grease from thumb and forefinger.

To avoid watching him lick his fingers clean - has Jev always been like this? James racks his brains, trying to remember whether he’s always been this noncommittally flirtatious in their past meetings, but given that they’ve usually been either at the Techeetah offices or drunk at a party somewhere it’s hard to tell - he checks his phone, a reflex action, even though there’s nothing interesting happening on there. When he looks up again, André is scrutinising him with a faint smirk, only partially disguised by the saké glass he raises to his lips.

James starts to get the feeling he’s part of something he doesn’t quite understand.

  
*

They’ve been discussing him while he’s been in the bathroom. Jev at least has the decency to stop talking abruptly and glance away, tucking a few errant strands of hair behind his ear and biting down on a grin. André glances up at him as he sinks back into the armchair and mumbles something else in French, too fast for James to catch. 

“What?” James says, glancing between them, and Jev giggles, covering his mouth with his fingers. His cheeks are flushed, perhaps with the drink, and he’s darting little sideways glances at André, sweetly submissive and yet somehow still making James nervous. “ _What_?”

“We were wondering,” Jev says, and then trails off into another coy smirk. James stares at him. He’s yet to make sense of Jev’s mercurial temperament; where André is all cynical languor and a disdain that hides an introspective and surprisingly sweet interior, Jev is highly-strung as a racehorse and just as prone to kicking out. Now, though, he’s almost giddy, his earlier stillness replaced with a freneticism that puts James in mind of a kid waiting to unwrap his Christmas presents. André looks across at him, something quelling in his gaze.

“Have you ever been with a man?” André says, leaning over to pick up his ochoko and take a casual sip.

“On occasion,” James says cautiously. This is a strange question for André to be asking, because he remembers with _relative_ clarity kissing André at a particularly messy party in Saint Tropez a few years back, and he’s pretty sure André remembers it too. Still, he doesn’t mention it, unsure whether it’s something André wants Jev to know about.

“Have you ever been with two?”

The question hangs in the air as James stares at André, not quite knowing how to proceed. André meets his gaze and shrugs one shoulder minutely, almost an apology. He places his cup down again, carefully, and sits back, lining his hands up carefully along the armrests of his chair with an expectant air, a businessman with a proposal on the table. James looks from one of them to the other. “Is this an offer?”

“It is if you want it to be,” André says. His eyes crease slightly at the corners though his face doesn’t entirely relax into a smile, and James breathes, trying to ignore the way his palms are sweating. Jean-Éric is visibly fidgeting between them, plucking at a loose fibre in the knee of his ripped jeans where his legs are curled beneath him. James watches him for a few seconds longer but Jev seems intent on avoiding his gaze.

“This isn’t some kind of team initiation,” James says suspiciously, and Jev snorts laughter at that, looking up from his own lap in apparent derision and catching André’s eye. André smiles back at him, the two of them apparently sharing some unspoken joke. James is _so_ fucking out of his depth.

“Don't be ridiculous,” André says. “We'd have probably asked you eventually whether you'd been made test driver or not. You’re attractive, and we feel comfortable around you.”

“Right,” James says uncertainly. The stiff formality of André’s English makes his tone hard to read, and not for the first time he finds himself cursing his total failure to concentrate during GCSE French. He’s not sure he likes André’s new fondness for using _we,_ either _._ How long have they been planning this?

He looks over to Jev, who smiles at him. James smiles back involuntarily; he likes the younger driver, likes his passion and his spikiness, and he feels a stab of empathy every time he catches Jev looking at André like he's the second coming. He's painfully transparent at times, seemingly unable to hide his emotions or perhaps just not caring in the first place who knows how he feels. It's not something James finds easy to understand. Jev laughs again, a high pitched and slightly unflattering squawk at odds with any veneer of cool he's attempting, and then gets up and moves to stand in front of James.

He hesitates there for a second, shifting from foot to foot. One of his socks has a hole in the toe. “Is this okay?” He doesn't wait for an answer before he sinks down relatively gracefully on to James’ lap, taking his cup from his hand and leaning over to place it on an end table. After a moment, James shrugs and nods all at once, an ambiguous gesture that Jev seems to take for what it is.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, a genuine question this time even though he’s smiling slyly. James swallows, can't help but glance over at André, seeking permission. Jev notices and laughs again, not unkindly, leaning in to speak under his breath. “Don't worry. He likes it.”

James nods more emphatically this time, still without fully understanding what it is he's agreeing to. It's growing ever darker and the lamp in the corner is doing an inadequate job of lighting the room, throwing André into silhouette as he stays sitting in James’ favourite armchair, emphasising the darker skin around Jev’s eyes as he leans in. He’s all light and shade, eyes shining, the tip of his tongue pressing against his bottom lip as he rests his hands on James’ shoulders, fingers curving to touch the bare skin of his neck.

The first press of his lips is gentle, autumn-sweet and warm from the daiginjo they've been drinking. Jev kisses as though he’s underwater, slow and deep, his tongue licking at James’ lips and teeth. James wonders, with the small portion of his brain that’s not entirely overwhelmed with alcohol and the situation, whether this is the way he kisses André and whether he’s showing off for the benefit of the other driver. Between the soft wet sounds of their mouths moving against one another, if he concentrates, he can just about hear André, breathing fast.

“You can touch me, you know,” Jev murmurs when they break apart for air. He nestles further into James’ lap so he’s straddling him properly, his thighs warm and firm as they bracket his lap. James does as he’s told without thinking, sliding the flat of his hands up Jev’s denim-clad thighs, fingertips snagging on the pre-frayed holes. He runs light fingers over Jev’s hips, tracing the furrows in the fabric where it's stretched tighter between his legs. Jev sighs softly as he does, a blurred and gentle sound, rocking his hips slightly and tilting back his head. It's followed by a full-body shiver when James, growing bolder, pushes his hands under the thin fabric of his shirt to touch skin hot and bristling with goosebumps beneath the sudden cool of his fingertips.

“What are we doing here?” James murmurs, though he doesn’t want to stop touching. Jev just smiles, shushes him, touching his fingertips to James’ mouth lightly and then retreating, which - well, it’s not a reassurance, exactly, but there’s enough warmth in his eyes that James ignores the rational, panicking part of his brain and goes with it. He’s never made any claims to being sensible, and all three of them are familiar enough with the desire to chase a high even when the risks threaten to outweigh the rewards.

He spends some time mapping the contours of Jev’s stomach and chest with the pads of his fingers, cataloguing the way his breathing hitches when he touches the sensitive spots below his ribcage, scratching his fingers through the light covering of hair on his chest and around his nipples, pinching and rubbing them into stiff peaks until Jev is moaning softly on every exhale, squirming in his lap. James lifts his head, mouthing at Jev’s jaw. Jev giggles, ticklish, and turns his head to kiss him again. He pushes Jev’s shirt up, urging, and Jev breaks the kiss for a moment to pull it over his head, dropping it to the floor behind himself and staring down at James with lidded eyes. He’s drowsy with it, eyes glazed and dark and the red of his lips spreading into the skin around his mouth. With a kind of piercing clarity, James _wants_ , and he slides his hands around Jev’s slim waist and down to squeeze his arse through those ridiculous jeans, pulling him close so their chests touch and burying his face in the warm crook of his neck, nosing at the damp skin.

“I knew you guys would be hot together,” André says, and Jev moans very softly, the sound vibrating through the muscles of his neck where James still has his face pressed. Irritation flashes through him for a brief moment as the dreamlike reverie of his lust is broken, but then he lifts his head enough to look at André over Jev’s shoulder. André is sprawled in the wide mouth of the armchair, legs spread, head tipped back just a little, one hand slowly rubbing the outline of his cock through his jeans. Their eyes meet, and James fights the urge to hide his face again. Jev, he can cope with, but André is his friend. How many drunken nights out have they shared, how many sunrises on their bikes through Sospel? To see him like this, the stark reality of his erection straining against the fabric of his jeans, is jarring. He thinks back to their drunken make-out session, years ago now, and wonders at his own innocence. For all André’s playboy reputation, James has never really considered having sex with him. Now it’s all he can think about; how could he not with André watching him through heavy eyes as he rubs himself, as James gropes his boyfriend-or-whatever right in front of him? James’ dick twitches against the zip of his own jeans and he grunts, involuntarily pulling Jev tighter against him.

“Come over here,” Jev twists to look over his shoulder, beckoning André and speaking with a firmness that surprises James. Somehow he’d expected André to be the one to drive this. André gets up willingly enough though, adjusting himself shamelessly with something akin to a leer when he sees James still looking at him. James cuts his eyes away to try to disguise the shiver that runs through him.

The room is awkwardly laid out - James had, in fairness, not considered this scenario when he’d arranged the furniture - and André has to pause as he skirts the coffee table, head tilted to one side, considering. James takes the opportunity to work on his button-down, nudging Jev back a little so he can wriggle out of it, leaving it crushed against the small of his back. The slight pause and falter humanises André once again, returning him to the man James knows, less swagger and bravado than he likes to admit. He has to tamp down on a smile as André huffs out a frustrated breath, fisting his hand into Jev’s hair as soon as he’s close enough and wrenching his head back to bend down and kiss him.

If he’d wondered whether Jev’s kiss was staged for the benefit of an audience, André leaves no such ambiguity. He keeps his face slightly apart from Jev’s, licking into his mouth and then retreating far enough that he can bite down on Jev’s bottom lip and tug at the flesh until Jev whines, high and thready. It’s light and teasing but the domination is clear, Jev’s head tipped back to bare his throat. James has never considered himself a master of non-verbal communication but André manipulates Jev’s body with a practiced confidence that’s easy to read and makes his stomach twist with desire. He gathers his courage and reaches out to touch André’s thigh.

André makes a quiet, satisfied noise, opening his eyes for a second to look at James, who forces himself to stare back more boldly than he feels. Closing his eyes again and less kissing Jev than breathing hard against his mouth, he takes James’ wrist and moves his hand very deliberately between his legs.

The heat and hardness of him, even through layers of denim and poly-cotton blend, is a shock, ludicrously; everything is off-kilter, his arm at an angle, André bent awkwardly at the waist to reach Jev’s lips and Jev wobbling and clutching at James’ upper arms to steady himself as André holds his head back. The whole thing threatens to fall apart, and yet James finds himself squeezing, rubbing, his own hips flexing into the warm weight of Jev balanced above him. Both Jev and André possess a kind of wildness that James has always found attractive, and here, pinned between them, he feels it seeping into his own bloodstream. He wants to leave bruises scattered across Jev’s pale skin, wants to dig his fingernails into the sensitive skin of André’s inner thighs, wants to taste blood. The sensation is new and rocks him to the core with its intensity, a reckless spark up and down his spine.

“Kiss him,” Jev says, breathless, and before James can react or prepare himself, André is leaning over him, Jev twisting to allow him space.

The way he kisses James is different, more aggressive than the way he kisses Jev. He’s unabashedly masculine, the verdant scent of his cologne mingling with sweat and alcohol and the prickle of his stubble sharp compared to the soft bristles of Jev’s beard. Everything about him suggests a fight as much as a fuck, and James doesn’t quite know what to do with it, his own masculinity piqued: he’s threatened and aroused in equal measure, opening his mouth to accept André’s tongue.

Jev’s weight shifts off his lap and he can’t help but groan into André’s mouth at the loss of it, but André pushes a hand against his jaw and he sinks into the surety of his grip, his hand sliding between André’s legs once again to trace the outline of his erection. As Jev stands up André slides in to take his place with a grace that belies his stature, pinning James to the back of the chair with his bodyweight.

The metallic clink of Jev’s belt buckle makes him shiver, André’s fingers struggling with the button on James’ own jeans as if in sympathy. “You want to fuck him, yeah?” André says into his mouth, his voice hoarse and a little wild, and James’ dick jumps against André’s curious fingers, stroking over the damp patch on his boxers.

“Yeah. I - yes,” James says, not bothering to hide the eagerness in his voice. André laughs and bites gently at his top lip, a gesture oddly more intimate than the hand still fumbling over the head of his cock as though trying to learn its shape.

“Can we go to the bedroom?” Jev says as he's stepping out of his jeans, touching the tips of his fingers to André’s clothed shoulder. “It's cramped in here.”

James wonders for a moment whether he should take them into his own room, but somehow it feels wrong, and instead he allows André to lead them to the guest room - ostensibly Jev’s for the duration of their stay, though André’s black carbon-fibre suitcase is disgorging its contents on to the floor next to Jev’s Vuitton. André shuts the door behind them and strips his clothes off without ceremony, nodding at James to do the same.

The sight of André naked makes his head spin, even as Jev is shucking off his black briefs and scrambling on to the bed. He's seen André naked before; they're athletes, they've been friends for years, they've been in changing rooms at the gym and pissed in the undergrowth instead of hunting for bathrooms on bike treks more times than he can count. He's not precious about nudity, his own or anyone else’s. Still, he's never seen André quite like this, one hand curled loosely around the base of his cock, his chest broad and furred with hair, glistening with sweat. He swallows, pushing his own jeans over his hips and turning to the relative safety of the bed. Jev is a more tangible prospect, propped against the pale grey fabric of the pillows, the clump of bracelets around his right wrist the sole adornment on his tanned skin. He smiles when he sees James looking, spreading his legs just enough to be inviting.

“You're fucking gorgeous,” James tells him as he sinks on to the bed beside him, pleased at the genuine blush that spreads across Jev’s face. He reaches for James, kissing him slow and deep. He’s so completely at ease with himself, with the situation, that James wonders whether this is the first time they’ve done this with someone else, whether they’ve recruited others before to ramp up the excitement of their sex lives. For a brief second jealousy flares in his chest, but the thought that he _might_ be the only one, that they've picked him out specifically, is somehow more unnerving.

Jev must sense resistance in his kiss, not quite concentrating in the way he was, and he pulls back with a slight frown, looking at James closely. “This is okay?” he asks, his accent thickened with either alcohol or lust, and James swallows down the sharp taste of adrenaline and nods.

He can't help but feel a little like a sentient fuck toy when André joins them on the bed and wastes no time in taking James’ right hand in his left, slicking the digits with lube with a smile that lands just on the wrong side of sleazy and holding him by the wrist as he fucks his fingers into Jev. James allows himself to be directed, content enough to nestle into the pillows and gaze up at Jev straddling his stomach, the muscles in his thighs tense and defined as André encourages James to scissor his fingers.

“Add another,” André says, and reaches over with his spare hand to stroke James’ cock with a businesslike grip. James shudders. He doesn't like to examine his feelings for André too deeply as a rule, a complicated mixture of friendship, professionalism and childlike admiration, but André’s direct gaze and slow smile are conspiring to take him apart, the intensity of his focus somehow more devastating than the movement of his hand. André lifts his eyebrows, pressing his thumb into the crown of James’ cock to see him wince and hiss a breath, a sweet punishment for his lack of immediate obedience.

“Jesus, André,” he murmurs and pushes a third finger inside the tight heat of Jev’s ass, mildly gratified by the way Jev’s laughter disintegrates into a groan. André’s other hand moves from his wrist to fumble over the point where their bodies are connected, mapping the way Jev is stretched around his fingers, smearing the excess lube across the crease of his ass with a studied glee James finds vaguely obscene despite everything. He’s still cupping James’ cock in a loose grip with his other hand, and James exhales, refusing to give into the temptation to lift his hips, fuck into his hand.

“You have a pretty big dick,” André says conversationally, and James falters in the movement of his fingers, attention torn between André’s words, the way he pushes the tip of his tongue against his top lip in a knowing leer, and the way Jev trembles violently as he speaks them. André’s grin widens and he pushes his own index finger in alongside James’.

“It's not that big,” James says faintly, though it's mostly lost in the keening sound Jev makes, his back arching so far it must be painful for him. André fucks his finger into the tight hot space between James’ bunched digits, filthy and painfully intimate, smiling at James with licentious glee.

“You’re right. He’s probably ready for you,” André slides his finger free and wipes the excess lube off his hand on to his own discarded underwear. James catches Jev wrinkling his nose and bites his lip to stop himself from smiling. There’s an element of this that’s slightly unnerving, the way André so readily speaks for Jev, mapping his own desires across all three of their bodies.

It’s been a while - too long, really - since he’s fucked someone. He’s not the type for one night stands and he’s too busy for a real relationship; sex is nice, when it happens, but it’s not something he thinks about too much when it’s not an option. James prides himself on his ability to compartmentalise. Still, it’s a shock, the tight wet heat around his dick, the way Jev clenches involuntarily at the sensation of being breached and then, suddenly, opens to him, the muscles in his thighs taut as he slowly lowers himself down until he’s fully seated in James’ lap, taking deep and uneven breaths.

James closes his eyes then because it’s just too much, both of them watching him, André’s fist loose around his own erection and a phantom of his touch in the way Jean-Éric’s body grips him. His brain skitters over the concept of the two of them plus him: all the permutations of his body with theirs, the different possibilities for pleasure. The sudden expansion of potential threatens to overwhelm him, but then Jev drops his weight forward and starts to move, his hands braced on James’ shoulders, and James finds he can’t hold on to a train of thought any more.

It’s not so much the physical act as the sheer _idea_ of what he’s doing that has him planting his feet flat against the mattress to give himself more leverage, setting up a pace of quick, deep thrusts. Three sets of lungs breathing fast, two sets of eyes watching him as he fucks into Jev’s tight heat, hardly able to believe his luck. With his eyes closed, he can appreciate the little things: the way Jev’s fingers curl into the hollows of his clavicles as he leans over James’ chest as though the bones were created to fit in his grasp. The way Jev’s breath is forced out of his chest in a soft moan every time James thrusts into him, a lyrical counterpoint to the crude sounds of flesh hitting flesh. Below it all, the soft monologue André keeps up, a mixture of French and English and all of it filth.

He feels Jev twitch and shudder suddenly and opens his eyes. Jev’s face is very close where he's fallen forward, folded almost in half, chin tucked into his chest, eyelashes flickering against his cheeks. James reaches up involuntarily and touches his cheek, moving to cup his jaw. With a noise so close to a sob that James almost pulls away, afraid he’s somehow causing pain, Jev leans into the touch. A movement catches his eye. André, pressing up close, his thighs hot against the curve of James’ knee. Jev makes that sound again and goes still and strangely pliant, the movement of his hips faltering. A sudden pressure at the base of his dick that makes James’ movements stutter too, momentarily confused.

“Come on, Jev, let me in,” André mutters, pushing at the hollow space between Jev’s shoulder blades with the flat of one hand. Jev gasps and digs his nails into James’ chest, but James barely notices as his brain finally comprehends that the unfamiliar sensation nudging at his groin is André, slowly and methodically pushing a finger into Jev’s ass alongside James’ cock.

“Hey, hey -” James says, then can't think of anywhere else to take the sentence. He’s not quite sure if it’s meant to be a reassurance to Jev or a question to André and he doesn’t think either of them are listening anyway.

André breathes out slowly, sliding his finger in all the way. Against the sensitive skin of his erection, André’s finger is work-roughened, his knuckles grazing against him in a way that makes him bite down on a groan.

“Is he - _André_ ,” James grits out. Above him, Jev is breathing deeply, apparently concentrating hard. James glances up at his face; he's biting his bottom lip, glazed in sweat, the muscles in his stomach knotted visibly. It makes his cock twitch and André must feel it because he looks across at James and smiles, predatory, showing his teeth. “Can he handle this?”

Too late he realises he's fallen into the linguistic trap André had set for him, relying on him to answer on Jev’s behalf. André’s eyes darken, pleased. “He's fine.” André leans in to press a kiss to Jev’s shoulder. “Aren’t you?” he prompts, and Jev mumbles acquiescence, sucking in a breath. André caresses his shoulder gently then bites down, licking over the faint half-moons his teeth leave behind. “Tu t’es jamais pris des deux bites?” he murmurs, and Jev moans and shakes his head.

“What?” James asks breathlessly; his French is passable and he thinks he’s got an idea of what André had asked, but Jesus, he wants to make sure because this is something he’s never even _thought_ about before, much less tried. “What did you just say to him?”

“Tell him,” André says to Jev, and does something with the finger that’s still pressed inside him alongside James’ cock that makes Jev moan again. _Is he always like this?_ James wants to ask him. _Does he get off on talking to you like this all the time? What kinds of things do you do together, when I’m not around to see?_

“He asked me if I’ve ever -” Jev falters, a blush creeping up his neck and ears even as he speaks. James stares, fascinated, and André grins, clearly pleased. “If I’ve ever taken two.”

“Two what?” André prompts, and James feels a flicker of sympathy for Jev as he glares, his cheeks now bright red, but to his shame the sympathy is overridden by a spike of lust as unexpected as it is sweet.

“Two cocks,” Jev murmurs, closing his eyes and licking over his lips, a nervous gesture that nonetheless makes James roll his hips a little harder. “ _Fuck_ , André. If I’ve ever taken two cocks at once.”

James shuts his eyes and then opens them again. Hysteria tingles at the back of his neck. Jev has stopped moving entirely, straightening up slightly from his position curled over James’ torso, but André is still moving his finger, slow and slick. Jev twitches around him, already pushed to the limits of comfort.

“Is that a thing people actually do?” James manages, and Jev huffs out a breath that could be laughter. He’s not joking, though, and wishes desperately that André had thought to bring the topic up for discussion _before_ they started fucking and not midway through it. It would be like André, though, to blurt out the idea as soon as it occurred to him: reckless, hedonistic, forever driven to traverse the boundaries of life and kick against them just because they’re there.

“In _porn_ ,” Jev says, his voice disintegrating into a throaty laugh as André licks the sweat from the curve of his neck, then hooks his chin over Jev’s shoulder, pressing close. Jev tips his head back, leaning against André with an assured familiarity that makes James want to look away.

“I want to try it,” Jev says, quieter and more serious now, turning his head so he’s speaking against the curve of André’s jaw. André reaches around him with his free hand, curls long fingers around his cock as if in reward for Jev’s acquiescence. Jev groans softly, his hips stuttering, clear fluid drooling from the tip of his erection and spilling over André’s hand.

“Tell me if it’s too much.” Jev nods as André strokes him slowly, and James bites back on a groan as he feels André pushing another finger in alongside the first. “James, you can move, but slowly.”

He doesn’t stop to reflect on the speed with which he obeys André’s instructions, nor the pleasure it affords him to do so. Gripping Jev’s thighs to hold him steady, he begins to move his hips again, tentative at first and then settling into more of a rhythm, slow and deep. André has at least been liberal with his application of lube, and the slick slide, looser now with André’s fingers twisting and scissoring against the resistance of Jev’s muscles, is good in the way that a hot shower after a day on the bike is good: a release, a diffuse ache of satisfaction, different to the sharp bliss of an orgasm but no less enjoyable for it. He presses his head back into the pillows, breathing through parted lips, letting the sensation wash over him.

“Sit forward,” André says, peeling himself from Jev’s back and pushing at him, and Jev slumps the rest of the way down with relative grace, his forearms either side of James’ head. Jev’s mouth is slack against his when James stretches up to kiss him, tongues sliding across each other, ands James swallows the noises Jev makes greedily. He runs his hands over Jev’s back, feeling each rib where it distorts the smoothness of skin.

Three fingers has Jev trembling against him. He’s still hard; James can feel his erection nudging the tensed muscles of his own stomach, but the sounds he’s making have morphed into something higher-pitched and breathless. He holds Jev close, trying to reassure him with sheer physical presence, slightly surprised when Jev nuzzles closer. He’s folded up on himself in a way that can’t be comfortable, his knees tucked close and almost reaching James’ armpits, such is the length of his legs, face buried in the curve of James’ neck as though he’s ashamed. James finds himself murmuring reassurances into Jev’s sweat-dampened hair, rubbing down his spine as though soothing a frightened animal. When André pushes his fingers in hard, up to the knuckles, Jev cries out, and it’s on the tip of James’ tongue to tell André to stop. Perhaps André knows him too well, because he glances up the line of Jev’s body and meets James’ gaze, face inscrutable as he twists his fingers to rub at the crown of James’ dick where it’s still buried inside Jev’s ass. It’s an implication as much as anything else, and the words die on James’ tongue.

“Jev?” André says, and Jev makes an incoherent sound against James’ neck that could be an attempt at words but probably isn’t. André keeps his eyes on James’ face, still rubbing at his cock, and James bites his lip to stop himself from groaning. “Use your words, Jev, c’mon. Tu t’en sors?”

“Fine. I’m fine,” Jev says, muffled and sounding slightly irritated, and the taut lines of André’s face soften, eyes creasing at the corners. Once again, James fights the urge to look away. He’s known André for a long time and he’s never seen him look at anyone with an expression like that. He thinks André might be in love, and more than anything else that’s happened so far this evening, it’s this knowledge that makes him feel like an interloper.

“Right,” André says, punctuating the word with a little slap to Jev’s ass that makes him gasp. He slides his fingers out slowly, and James reels at the sudden lack of tight heat, the way Jev’s loose around him now, the muscles twitching at the lack of resistance but failing to grip him.

André’s hands are at Jev’s hips, urging him to lift up slightly, and James slides his hands down to the swell of his ass to support his weight, a pleasant strain through his shoulder muscles. The expression on Jev’s face is somewhere between nerves and excitement, his cheeks flushed, biting at the swell of his bottom lip. James is curiously calm, the ache in his dick subsiding slightly with the lack of friction. He breathes deeply, concentrating on the way Jev trembles minutely in his arms, his hands braced either side of James’ head to keep his chest up. _That won’t last,_ James thinks abstractly, noting the way his arms are already shaking. He has the sudden urge to gather Jev up, hold him close, stroke his hair.

“Okay,” André says, uncharacteristically soft. He's broad-chested and sweating behind the graceful incline of Jev’s back, his face a mask of concentration as he squeezes yet more lube over the shaft of James’ cock, making him hiss. He plays his fingers through the slickness, working it into Jev’s ass and then coating himself. When he speaks, his voice is taut with excitement. “James, stay still until I say you can move, alright?" 

James grunts, taking one hand away from Jev’s ass to hold the base of his own erection steady, his knuckles grazing the swell of Jev’s ass. He breathes out shakily when he feels the blunt head of André’s cock nudging up against his, head spinning with the unreality of the sensation. Surely they're not really going to do this, he thinks with a sudden wash of nerves. Nobody does this in real life.

But, apparently, it's the kind of thing Jev and André do, and as the pressure against James’s cock increases slowly, André pressing forward unrelenting and steady, he finds himself caught in the pornographic thrill of it. The noises Jev is making are unearthly, each exhale a high-pitched whine that James hopes speaks more to the sensory overload he’s under than actual pain.

“It’s too much, I can’t, I can’t,” Jev sounds a little panicked, and James can’t help it, he has to let go of Jev’s hips entirely to cradle the back of his head, soothing him.

“Hold him,” James says, and as the words leave his mouth he wants to rake them back in because who is he to tell André what he can and cannot do with Jev’s body? But to his surprise, André nods, not bothering to glance up at James, and pushes one arm beneath Jev’s shaking form, bracing his forearm across Jev’s stomach and pulling his hips back. Jev sinks into the movement, James’ hand at the back of his neck urging him down as he presses his forehead to James’ chest like a penitent. His scalp is drenched in sweat, skin seemingly crackling with nervous energy, and there is no justification for the way it makes James’ gut twist and his hips twitch to see Jev taken apart like this. He’s so fragile already, even though James knows a core of steel runs through him.

“Breathe deeply,” André instructs. He hasn’t pulled back, hasn’t offered Jev any space to adjust, still a steady pressure pushing forward. “I’ve got you.”

Jev pushes his forehead hard into the curve of James’ collarbone and James finds himself shushing him, murmuring pacifying nonsense, his hand shaking where it passes over the crown of Jev’s head. He whispers praise, tells Jev how good he looks, how well he takes it, the kind of phrases he can barely allow himself to even _think_ without cringing under normal circumstances.

André grunts and the odd sensation of pressure around James’ cock builds, and then, abruptly, it disappears altogether, replaced by Jev’s entire body jolting against him as he bites down on a cry. André groans, a sharp dark sound, as the head of his cock finally breaches the tight resistance of the muscles it pushes against.

“That’s it,” André murmurs, hoarse. He can’t quite lean down far enough to press a kiss to Jev’s back with the way Jev is collapsed, but he dips his head and presses his forehead to the curve of his spine briefly, eliciting a soft whine from Jev. James kisses his temple, rubs his upper arms, while Jev trembles against him, either unwilling or unable to lift his head. “That’s it, Jev, that’s the worst of it.” André straightens up and exhales, unthreading his arm from where it's hooked beneath Jev’s stomach and looking up at James as if for the first time. James is gratified to see that his eyes are glazed and dark, his usual mask of composure slipping. His hair has come loose of its usual gelled coif, falling over one eye. He looks shell-shocked and sexy and a little bit dangerous, and James stares at him unashamedly, lust swelling inside him like a punch to the gut. 

André’s cock is thick and hard and hot, pressed so close to James’ own, the tip pushed against the inward curve below the head of his. “I can feel you,” James says in a tone of astonishment that makes André smile faintly. James no longer cares if he sounds like an idiot; he feels like his brain is short-circuiting, the tight heat of Jev’s body surrounding him and the presence of André’s erection alongside his own so stupidly, terrifyingly intimate. 

“You okay?” André says gently, touching the small of Jev’s back. A shiver ripples across Jev’s skin where his fingers rest.

“It hurts.” Jev’s voice is taut, muffled where he's still curled into James’s body. “God, fuck, _fuck."_  

“You want us to stop?” 

There's a small pause. _Please say no_ , James thinks, cradling Jev in his arms, ashamed of his need. Jev makes a soft, pained sound and stirs. There’s a long pause. “No.”

Something close to relief flickers across André’s features, his expression clearing, and he meets James’ gaze once again. An unspoken agreement, André acknowledging and mirroring the ugly desire to ignore Jev’s pain and move his hips, fuck into the slick heat.

“We’ll go slow,” André says to Jev, but his eyes are still on James’ face, flickering over his features with poorly-disguised hunger. James nods, moves one hand to grip the scruff of Jev’s neck, as much to anchor himself as anything else. He feels like a camera that’s letting in too much light, bleached with it. Too late, he realises he’s been chewing the inside of his cheek in an effort not to move his hips, tasting the iron smack of blood.

André moves his hips, and James feels it right the way through his body, as surely as if it had been his own hips rolling. Jev moans, a shudder rippling down the damp skin of his back. His fingers curl against James’ collarbones, the bitten edges of his nails digging in, and James breathes, and breathes, and thinks about the ache in his balls and the beads of sweat running down Jev’s forehead.

“You're doing really well,” James says softly, and Jev sobs in response, his fingers briefly tightening. The heat is pouring off him, his body loose and pliant. He shifts against James every time André moves against him, the breath forced from him in agonised gasps, but, amazingly, he's still hard, his erection trapped between the flat planes of James’ stomach and his own. It leaves a damp smudge across his abs every time it drags across the flesh. 

It's like nothing he's ever felt before. André’s cock is burning hot against his own, everything wet and silken and constantly moving, and James tips back his head to stare wide-eyed at the ceiling. He wants to say their names but he can't pick one, settles for a muttered curse instead. André is picking up speed incrementally, his thrusts gaining in confidence and intensity as the sounds Jev make slide from pained to simply overwhelmed.

“Go on,” André says, his voice thick, and James glances at him, questioning. “You can move.” 

With André between his spread legs and Jev’s bodyweight slumped on top of him, James can no longer lift his hips to fuck into Jev properly. Instead he flexes his hips, using the muscles in his groin to move incrementally, a counterpoint to André’s slower, deeper thrusts. It’s a strange dance, and he finds himself anticipating the rhythm André sets, sinking into it until he can act alongside it, both of them moving in tandem so when one is pushing in, the other is pulling out. Jev is limp as a doll between them, his body yielding to the twin assault partially because it has no other choice. His mouth is open and pressed against James’ hammering pulse-point, a steady stream of incoherent sounds spilling from his lips. 

“Up,” André says, and pulls hard on Jev’s hips. Jev’s spine is a graceful downward curve as he struggles to lift himself on shaking arms. André leans back and thrusts into him anew, biting his lip with concentration. Jev sways against the bruising grip André has on his hips, almost collapsing face-first on to James’ chest once again.

“Please,” Jev gasps, and James doesn’t know whether he’s begging for them to stop or do it harder, but it doesn’t matter anyway, he’s lost to the hypnotic physical ache, his hips moving of their own accord. Trance-like, he lifts one hand and cups Jev’s cheek for a moment, then pushes two fingers into his mouth, obeying some primal urge to see Jev split apart in as many ways as he can think of. Jev sighs in response, surrender in the lines of his body, suckling James’ fingers as though in need of comfort. His eyes are half-closed and heavy-lidded, spots of colour high on his cheeks. He looks beautiful. 

André reaches out, sliding one hand up the planes of Jev’s back and touching James’ fingers where they clutch at Jev’s shoulder. James closes his eyes, tangles his fingers through André’s, holding on tight. He's losing track of the boundaries of his own body, André’s cock sliding against his a sweet deep pleasure all by itself. He curls his fingers in Jev’s mouth, touching the sharper edges of his teeth and petting his tongue. His balls are tight and aching, an echo of the tight sucking pressure around his cock. 

When he opens his eyes, André is watching him, his bottom lip snagged between his teeth, the blue of his eyes ink-dark. When their eyes meet, André licks his lips and says, hoarse, “You feel so good”. He’s not talking to Jev, or at any rate not _just_ to Jev, James realises. André squeezes his hand, one quick pulse of his fingers, his eyes fixed on James’ face though James has no idea what he’s seeing.

James shudders, his hips jerking involuntarily. He's so close to coming he's on the edge of frenzy,forcing himself to breathe in deep in an attempt to stave off the edge of pleasure. The rhythm they’d fallen into, so natural it had felt like breathing, begins to disintegrate. 

“Touch him,” André gasps out, voice tense and shaking. “Make him come, c’mon.” James obeys, sliding his wet fingers from Jev’s mouth and pushing an eager hand between their bodies. Jev gives a sharp cry when James closes his fingers around him, body jackknifing against his. 

It doesn't take long after that, his grip clumsy and tight, the tendons in his wrist burning with the awkward angle and the palm of his hand slippery where it smears across the blunt head of Jev’s cock. Jev is all movement when he comes, his earlier languor forgotten as his hips move in spasmodic jerks as he comes across James’ wrist and stomach, burning hot. He's lost in it, pushing himself back to bury them both deeper inside him, snarling and panting, and in that moment James would gladly never get in a car again if it meant he could see Jev like this, trembling and bucking and murmuring in slurred French, just once more. 

His own orgasm, when it happens, feels almost anticlimactic, a commonplace pleasure in comparison to watching Jev fall apart around him. He moans, low and long, Jev still twitching and shuddering with aftershocks on his lap but watching his face avidly all the same. James closes his eyes against the scrutiny, holding Jev in place by the hip. 

“Fuck,” André grits out at the same time, shock colouring his voice. “I can feel it, _fuck_.” He breathes the words, voice slack with wonder, and it sends a fresh wave of heat through James’ stomach as his brain finally comprehends what André means, why his fingers have tightened to a death grip around his own. He blinks, his eyes burning with sweat, watching the emotions flicker across André’s face. He’s winded, the lack of breath not helped by the way Jev is slumped across him, whining and oversensitive, trying to squirm away as the sensations sour from pleasure to pain. 

“I need,” James says, and then stops, suddenly unsure of how to phrase himself, but André nods, even though it takes him a few seconds to stop the movement of his hips, slowing for long enough that James can slide free. Jev hisses out a soft, pained breath as he does, biting his lip to muffle the noise, but pushes himself back against André nonetheless, drawing a soft groan from him. 

André hoists him up by the hips once again, curling over his back and fucking into him with renewed energy. “Tu sens comme une fille,” he murmurs into Jev’s ear, his voice low and wrecked, and Jev shudders all over. André bites his shoulder when he comes, strangely quiet, sharp staccato breaths against Jev’s bruised skin, James watching on as he tries to catch his breath and fails. Maybe André feels his gaze because he looks up and locks their eyes, his eyelashes fluttering as his orgasm floods through him. James couldn’t look away if he tried.

 

* 

He expects it to be awkward, but it’s not. He doesn’t make it a habit to fuck his friends, so he has nothing to measure it against, but the odd one-night stand he’s had in the past has usually ended in stilted conversation and a night of staring at the ceiling, his body unable to relax with the unfamiliar presence of another person in the bed alongside him.

The panic sets in as soon as the high of his orgasm wears off, everything damp with sweat and uncomfortably sticky, Jev rolling bonelessly to his side, wincing with every movement, his voice slurred and slow when James asks hesitantly if he’s okay. André squeezes his hip gently and extricates himself from the tangle of bodies, disappearing from the room and leaving the two of them alone. Torn between his concern for Jev’s physical welfare and a schoolyard fear that André has receded into one of the cold and silent moods he occasionally drops into for no apparent reason, James lapses into silence. 

“James?” Jev says after a pause. James hums in response, lost in the spiral of his own anxiety. Jev sighs softly. When he speaks, his voice is small and vulnerable, his slight lisp more pronounced than usual, exhaustion blurring the edges of his words. “Will you play with my hair?”

James twists so they’re facing, trying not to let the surprise show on his face. Jev is blushing slightly, but his jaw is set in determination, and he shrugs. “It helps,” he says obliquely. James nods and reaches up, carding his fingers through the damp strands, tugging gently at the knots that have formed at the nape of his neck. Jev closes his eyes, making a quiet noise of satisfaction, his breathing gradually evening out as though he’s on the verge of sleep. 

He doesn’t stir when André returns dragging the blankets from James’ bed and a packet of wet wipes, which he drops on to James’ chest. He shrugs expansively when James wrinkles his nose, concentrating on working the soiled duvet out from beneath Jev’s prone form and replacing it with the clean one as James makes a rudimentary attempt at cleaning himself up. 

To his surprise, André slips into the bed on James’ side, nudging him over until he’s lying in the middle, Jev wriggling closer. “Come here,” André says, and reaches over to flick off the lamp. James turns his head to face him, keeping his fingers tangled in Jev’s hair. The lights from the street outside filter through the rice-paper blinds, and once his eyes have adjusted James can see André looking at him steadily through the bluish gloom, his eyes shining in the half-light. James opens his mouth to say something, but no words come to mind. André smiles then and kisses him, slow and lazy, Jev’s fingers playing over his side. 

“Tomorrow you have to show me the sights,” Jev mumbles after they break apart, tapping at James’ side to get his attention. “I think I’m gonna like it here.”

_Me too,_ James thinks as the bodies either side of him press close, matching his breath to the spaces in between theirs.

**Author's Note:**

> Tu t’es jamais pris des deux bites? - Have you ever taken two cocks?  
> Tu t’en sors? - Are you okay with this? (slang term, that's not an exact translation)  
> Tu sens comme une fille - You feel like a girl


End file.
